《UNTIL YOU REMEMBER ME》全部章節：第 271 章 - 第 280 章

(Adrian) The memory came back uninvited while I was standing at the window, watching the city lights flicker like distant stars. Kathryn was asleep in the bedroom, her breathing steady and peaceful. The penthouse was quiet except for the low hum of the air system. I should have been at peace too. But the past had a way of creeping in when the present felt too easy. That night in the rain. I had just finished humiliating Marcus in court earlier that day. I was still riding the high of victory when she stormed into the networking event — Alessa, still in her engagement dress, eyes blazing with fury. She called me gay in front of everyone, a childish, venomous taunt because she was hurting from her breakup with Marcus. I followed her out into the pouring rain, grabbed her, and kissed her hard — proving I was very much a man. A straight man. We ended up in my car, windows fogged, seats pushed back. I thought she was experienced. The way she provoked me, the fire in her eyes, t

(Alessa) The memories returned in fragments, sharp and merciless, like broken glass slicing through the fog I had lived in for so long. I was sitting alone in the sunroom at my father’s estate, staring at the river, when the first clear one hit. The penthouse. Huge. Cold. Empty. Adrian would leave for days, sometimes weeks, consumed by Reyes Holdings. Expanding the empire. Building the Law Institute in London with Margaret at his side. I was left behind in that glass tower, designing buildings for strangers while my own life felt like it was collapsing around me. I would wait for him, dinner cold on the table, only to get a short call saying he was staying at the office again. He stopped coming home early. He would rather spend the night buried in work than with me. Our touches became rare. Our conversations shorter. Followed by another memory—-It’s dark. That night in the car — the rainy night after I broke up with Marcus. The night I called Adrian gay as a taunt, and he

( Alessa) The nausea hit me like a wave I couldn’t outrun. I woke up that morning with my stomach churning, the room spinning even though I was lying still. I tried to sit up, but the moment I moved, bile rose in my throat. I barely made it to the bathroom before I was vomiting, clutching the sink, tears stinging my eyes. When it finally stopped, I slid down to the cold tile floor, breathing hard. My hands trembled as I pressed them against my abdomen. Two months. I was two months delayed. The last time I had been intimate with Marcus was recent, but the timing… it didn’t match. The nonstop nights with Adrian before I left the penthouse — those desperate, angry, hungry encounters where we couldn’t get enough of each other — those were the ones that fit. Those were the nights when I had clung to him like he was the only thing keeping me alive. The baby was Adrian’s. I sat there on the bathroom floor, staring at the wall, my mind reeling. I couldn’t tell Marcus yet. No

(Adrian) The nausea didn’t stop. It came in waves throughout the day — sudden, violent, leaving me gripping the edge of my desk or the sink in the courthouse restroom. My colleague’s teasing words kept echoing: “You’re like a pregnant woman.” I laughed it off then, but the possibility had taken root and refused to let go. I sat in the study that evening, the penthouse quiet except for the soft hum of the city far below. Kathryn was in the kitchen making dinner, her presence a steady, comforting rhythm I had come to rely on. But my mind kept drifting back to Alessa. Her silence after the engagement announcement was deafening. No more taunting posts. No more fake accounts. No more desperate attempts to provoke me. She had gone quiet, focusing on her work — that massive shopping mall project beside the Hilton, her name prominently displayed as lead architect. She looked composed in the photos. Professional. Like she was finally moving forward without me. But something felt wr

(Adrian) The nausea had a memory of its own. It wasn’t random. It wasn’t simple stress. By the second week, I began to understand it as something deeper — a physical echo of everything I had tried to bury. Every morning it pulled me from sleep like a hand around my throat, dragging me to the bathroom where I retched until my ribs ached. The taste of bile lingered for hours, a bitter reminder that my body was rebelling against the lies I had fed it for years. I started keeping a quiet log in my study — times, severity, what I had eaten the night before. Nothing helped. Black coffee made it worse. The herbal tea Kathryn brewed only settled my stomach for an hour before the next wave hit. She watched me with quiet worry, her fingers brushing my forehead as if checking for fever. I told her it was the pressure of the remaining board disputes and the quiet financial bleed from the severed Valez contracts. She believed me because she loved the version of me that was steady, ambitiou